Simon Purvis
by
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I stepped back to admire the printed words on the doorway of suite 312. “Simon Purvis, Private Investigator.” I had this overwhelming feeling of self-admiration seeing my name embossed in black letters on the window of the entry. Twenty-five years with the San Francisco Police Force, the last fifteen in homicide, and now this. Is this something I really want to do? Too late for that thought. Yet, I had to wonder when I made this decision, had I abandoned my conservative rationale?
After six months into a boring retirement I needed an out. I mean how much golf and fishing can one do? Besides, I was too young to retire. I’m not one for traveling, nor do I enjoy television, and there are only so many books I can read a year, so I needed something else to occupy my time. A friend suggested, “Why not go into private investigation? Work a few hours now and then just to keep active.” Others agreed it was a good idea. They encouraged me to move ahead. “Give it a go.” Another added, “What do you have to lose?” What did they know?
After careful consideration of my friend’s offerings, I admitted it seemed like the right thing to do. Not that my new endeavor would be like my former career, but it did have many comparable characteristics. Most of which I was comfortable with. So, why not?
After a moment of ogling the inscription on the doorway and cultivating my ego, I inserted the key, turned the handle, and entered. I proceeded through an outer reception area, through another door, and into my office. I noted the furniture had arrived; I also noted the musty smell. What a dump. Had I the lucrative means, I’d have upgraded this paltry abode to another with distinguishing accommodations and never rented this ugly pigsty. But alas, one is limited by one’s funds. I flipped the light switch on, which only enhanced the denigrated appearance of the drab decor, walked across the well-worn carpet, and raised the mini-blinds. My disturbance of the miniscule slats awakened ageless dust and cobwebs into a cloud of airborne particles. Fanning my hands from side to side I managed to clear the air and step to the solitary window.
Chapter 46:
Soft music played in the background as we found our way to the dining room and took our seats at a magnificently arranged table. At least I thought so, for it certainly wasn’t one I was accustomed to dining at. We sat with Doreen at one end of (I’m guessing) an eight foot table, Robert at the other end, and Trace and I on each side across from each other. Two lighted candelabrums adorned the white-linen tablecloth with beautiful pink flowers about their base. I do believe they were orchids, but what do I know; I’m not a horticulturist. Each place setting had five crystal glasses of different sizes, silverware that ran off from each side of the plate four strong, with plates piled atop plates. Jeez! What did mom say? Work from the outside in and always wait for the host to begin. That rhymes. This must be what is known as a ten-course dinner.
After an hour and a half went by I was stuffed. I had never indulged in such an abundant array of rich morsels in my life. I didn’t know food could look so appealing and taste so delicious. Oh yes, I had seen it done on TV a time or two. Those bake offs as they are called. Where chefs go out of their way to make their favorite creation. I think this was one of those times. No, I won’t bore you with what we had. Well maybe a little. It was a menu that covered all the basic food groups and then some. How does one say it? Ah, yes. A culinary voyage that awakened my taste buds and conveyed my stomach to where it had never ventured before. Salads, seafood, pasta, beef, American cuisine at its finest. Of course, petite filet mignon and lobster tails were part of the entree. Not too much, of course, for there were many other items on this evening’s fare. And the
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About the Book
A prominent
This book contains adult language and graphic sexual scenarios.
About the Author
A midwestern tech graduate, a military veteran, and a grandfather of six. A man who enjoys sailing, motor cycling, and writing. He believes that human curiosity can best be served by the telling of a good story. A story that will capture the reader's interest, play to their emotions, and be entertaining. He hopes "Simon Purvis" meets that criteria.